


enough is not the same (it was before)

by Charis



Series: Tumblr AU Prompts [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 5 Sentence Fiction, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Doomed Relationship, F/M, Linked Ficlets, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charis/pseuds/Charis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos watches his sister and his best friend come together and fall apart, and wishes he hadn't been right to worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	enough is not the same (it was before)

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a prompt for a “best friend’s sibling AU”, and you can damned well bet I took the chance to make Porthos and Milady siblings. And then multiple subsequent five-sentence ficlet prompts came in for the same ‘verse, so I figured I should post them all together.  
> Title via Poets of the Fall’s “Carnival of Rust”. For the five-sentence ficlets, the italicised first line in each section is the prompt. Minor liberties taken in wording in the prompts, in the interests of flow and tone. Section 5 prompt from Athena, all others anonymous.

**1\. play**

She’s not _actually_ his sister, but spending seven years together in the foster care system, especially as recalcitrant teenagers, might as well be forever and she certainly feels like a sister as far as he’s concerned. She’s definitely the only person he’s thought of as family since his mother passed when he was not quite six. But even if they’re not connected by blood (childish stupidity and a sharp knife and matching scars don’t count, no matter how they might have liked them to), he’s her older brother in every other way, and that means protecting her whether she likes it or not.

He’s been at uni for two years when she follows him there, and Porthos is delighted; he’s made close friends in his time here, almost brothers, but it’s different and it’ll be nice to have Anne around again. (It’ll be nice to be able to ask her about Alice from Lit, who he thinks might be interested but he doesn’t have a clue how to approach, because while he could ask Aramis his best friend likes to meddle, and even if it’s for well-intentioned reasons he doesn’t want that here). What he doesn’t count on is the fact that Anne’s grown up too, and that being here at college and out from under the gimlet gaze of their foster parents (the last pair were well-meaning but stern, and her letters had made it clear how much she chafed) means she’s going to dive into that freedom.

And he’s her big brother, and he wants to protect her, and he manages that pretty well – brings her ginger ale and scrambled eggs and toast when she’s suffering through her first serious hangover and doesn’t mock her too badly, steers her clear of the worst teachers, watches as she acclimates to campus life. He manages not to mother-hen her too badly, he thinks, until she corners him one day when his flatmates are both out.

“You can stop scaring off my boyfriends any time, you know.”

It’s not what he expected – it’s not anything he thought he’d been doing, and so he just blinks at her. “What?”

“The last one told me that, and I quote, ‘Your brother keeps glaring at me like he’ll cut me up if I do anything’. You’re killing my social life, Porthos.”

Another blink, and then, “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my baby sister, and my baby sister is not allowed to be dating.”

She folds her arms and scowls up at him, a mulish expression he’s all too familiar with. “I’m eighteen, if you haven’t been paying attention. That makes me an adult and –”

“Still my baby sister.” He slings an arm around her shoulders with a grin, but the scowl doesn’t waver. “Look, Annie – when you find one that’s worthy of you, _then_ I’ll stop scaring them off. But none of those boys were.”

“I’m _eighteen_ ,” Anne repeats with exaggerated patience, “and I’m not looking for anything like forever. I just want to have a little fun. Is that so wrong?”

It is, he thinks, because that’s how girls get hurt, and she’s as reckless as they come. He doesn’t want to see that change until she’s ready for it. But she’s looking at him, and there’s a genuine plea in her green eyes, and he just sighs. “I’ll try.”

 

**2\. fall**

He tries, but it’s hard – harder than he’d expected, biting his tongue and standing back and watching her make mistakes. And they get through the year and take a summer sublet together – she’s taking classes and he’s working – and it’s nice, quiet, _normal_ in a way that’s almost weird, because normal’s not a word either of them were ever accustomed to. Athos and Aramis both go home for the summer, but they call and text and email each other regularly, and he realises that his surrogate family has definitely gotten bigger. It’s a feeling that’s only confirmed when they reunite at the start of the term, moving into their shared flat; these two best friends of his might as well be his brothers, and he’s proud to call them that.

It doesn’t make it any easier when he first catches Athos’ eyes following Anne – following, with a softness he’s more used to seeing in Aramis when their third is in the throes of a new passion. (Aramis falls in love with appalling regularity, and they’ve had to help him through several rough breakups in their three years together.) But seeing this from Athos is new, because he’s the quiet one, serious and sarcastic and generally keeping to a small circle of friends or his studies. The fact that it’s _her_ putting the expression there is all the more disconcerting.

He doesn’t think too much of it, though, not until Athos’ birthday, when the present she gives Athos makes him light up (and she’d given both of his flatmates little gifts last year, because they were important to him and she was over often enough that it was polite, but they’d been the kind of gifts you give people you don’t really know; this year it’s a book, some reproduction fencing manual that he knows Athos had dearly wanted, and Anne doesn’t do things just because – not for rich boys like Athos). And he’s not sure which one of them to warn off, because Anne breaks hearts as easily as she breathes but she’s still his baby sister, and be damned if he’s going to let Athos off easy just because they’re best friends.

“Don’t hurt him,” he tells her when they’re waiting for takeaway together one night, though, because he’s not watched Anne as closely and he’s not sure what she has in mind with all this. He lives with Athos, has watched him more closely since his birthday, but this term he and Anne haven’t had much time together.

“Would I do that?” The innocent expression on her face is one he knows well, has seen countless times in their years together in foster care, and he’s not going to be fooled by that mask.

“You know you would, Annie.” But there’s as much affection as there is warning in his tone, because whatever her shortcomings she’s still his sister and he loves her. “He deserves better than that.”

“I know.” Her voice is small, oddly subdued. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Porthos. I just – I want to be happy. And he makes me smile.”

It occurs to him that he may end up having to nurse not one but two broken hearts before all of this is done.

 

**3\. find**

_“Annie, please, if you’re going to stay the night with Athos_ please _wear more than just his shirt in the morning,” Porthos groans, resting his forehead on the table. “There are some things a brother doesn't want to see or think of his sister doing.”_

Anne ignores him at first, intent on digging mugs out of the cabinet, but when she sits down opposite him the smell of coffee is enough to prompt him to lift his head again – and the universe is kind (or maybe it just owes him for hammering home the point that his baby sister and his best friend had sex last night, and somewhere his _other_ best friend has to be laughing himself hysterically sick at Porthos’ plight) because she’s pushing one of the mugs across the table towards him. Her eyes are dancing above the rim of her own as she drinks, her smug expression decidedly like the cat that got the cream, and he kicks her (but not too hard, because she brought him caffeine) under the table out of spite, grumbles, “I hate you,” before taking a deep breath of coffee-scented steam.

“Liar,” she accuses, but it’s affectionate; “you know you love me.” She looks relaxed, happy, sleep-mussed hair and Athos’ too-big shirt buttoned crooked and trying to escape off one shoulder and all, and as much as he may find the whole situation disconcerting, he thinks that it’ll be worth putting up with if it makes her smile like that more often, keeps putting both her and Athos at their ease – just not if he has to hear them (or worse, _walk in on them_ , and there’s a terrifying thought), because the line has to be drawn somewhere and having a pretty good idea of what’s going on is totally different from incontrovertible proof.

“I only love you for your coffee,” he corrects, and they’re still laughing when Athos finally stumbles in, rumpled and sleepy-eyed, some minutes later to look at them like they’re both mad.

 

**4\. dream**

_“Porthos, I want to ask Annie to marry me and I was wondering if I could have your permission since I know you’re the closest thing to a dad for her.”_

Porthos just looks at him at first, naked incredulity on his face, but just when Athos has begun to think that this was a terrible idea and maybe elopement would’ve been cleaner (never mind the complications, or the fact that Porthos and Aramis would’ve never let him hear the end of it and he’d probably have to find some new best friends), the other man barks out a laugh and slings a companionable arm around his shoulders. “For your sake, I’m going to pretend you never asked that,” he says, and only snickers when Athos frowns at him, certain he’s being mocked – thinking wildly that maybe brother and sister have been laughing behind his back (and okay, that’s stupid, but his ears are turning red and he can’t figure out why Porthos is acting like he’s humouring him, doing him some sort of favour). “Athos,” he continues, though, and it’s more serious now, his dark eyes intent, “mate, listen to yourself; do you know what Annie would do to me if I had the nerve to say yes – as if the choice isn’t entirely hers?”

_‘Oh,’_ he thinks, as the flush creeps down his neck as well, _‘oh god, I’m such an idiot,’_ because he’d only thought of the things he’s read – this isn’t exactly something he has any kind of personal experience with, and thank god for friends who keep him from making a complete fool of himself, because at least Porthos’ expression is back to his usual good-humoured one, as if he’s followed Athos’ train of thought.

“Tell you what,” his best friend says, with an absolutely shit-eating grin, “you go ask her, and then when she says yes Aramis and I can take you out for a congratulatory round of drinks and I won’t even make too much fun of you for almost screwing up your marriage proposal by being an old-fashioned idiot,” and Athos can’t decide whether he should hit him or kiss him in thanks, because it’s obvious Porthos is sure Annie’s going to say yes, and that idea makes him breathe just a little easier; in the end he settles for both.

 

**5\. wake**

_“Is it enough to say that I think about your face, your mouth and when I do, I want to stop whatever I’m doing and make love to you?”_

She turns away at his words – turns away, but not before he sees something crumple in her face, eyes glassy and mouth tight with something as likely to be anger or sorrow or regret; her fingers curl at her sides, pressing against her palms as if she’s having to force herself not to reach out (and it doesn’t surprise him when he wants to do the same, but the space between them is sharp and treacherous and full of the jagged edges of shattered dreams, and he both fears getting cut and wants that pain – _needs_ it, to remember why he should keep his distance when the sight of her leaves him soft and weak and wanting), the light summer dress that floats to her knees at odds with the ice and steel of her demeanour. “I don’t know,” she says, the words so caustic he’s surprised her throat is still whole (but it’s not, she’s not, _they’re_ not); “you tell me, Athos – you’re the one who ended it.”

And it’s fair – god, no matter how those words sting, because when the facts are laid out he’s still the one who broke off their engagement, even if she’s the one who broke _them_ (and maybe he’s the one who drove her to it, or maybe his parents were right and they were too fundamentally different for things to ever work out in the long term – maybe they were doomed to this end from the start after all) and he can’t forget that, doesn’t dare forgive it; he can’t forget _her_ , dreams of her more often than not, but that doesn’t excuse what she (either of them) did. He’ll reach if he’s not careful, and so he shoves his hands into his pockets and exhales against the weight of their past, confesses, “No,” because it’s not, not yet, and may very well never be.

She looks back at him with cool green eyes that reflect the myriad aches in him (because he shattered her as surely as she did him, and beneath it all he knows there is a part of her as soft and as tender as his own heart, as bruised and raw and never enough to balance out all the rest) and echoes, “No.”

 

**6\. reach**

_“Annie, he’s my best friend, you broke each other -- I can’t stop being friends with him because he broke you as you broke him too.”_

“And what would you know about how I broke -- about any of it?” she spits back; his words are true, and she knows that and wishes she didn’t because this would be so much easier if she could call him a liar, but she loves him almost as much as she loves ( _loved_ , damn it, but just because she’s a disaster doesn’t mean she’s stopped feeling, caring) Athos -- he’s the only family she has, and she knew this was coming but she’s learned by now that knowing just makes certain things feel inevitable.

Porthos just gazes at her, sad eyes in an usually sober face, and he looks so much like a kicked puppy that she feels more guilty and wants to lash out even harder for it (but she’s not _asking_ him to stop being friends with Athos, knows better than to make that sort of demand -- thinks, on particularly bleak nights, that she doesn’t deserve to still call him kin after -- well, _everything_ ). No one’s asking him to take sides, to choose between them even if their estrangement calls for that by its very nature, and if he feels like they have then it's no one's fault but his own.

Everyone leaves; everyone will eventually see only the bleak darkness in her, the bad blood she was born with that can only prove true in time (she was told so, again and again as a girl, and how many times can a child be told something before believing it real?) and it is better to cut them, to push them away, to make them bleed before they open up her veins and her heart and she knew this would happen, deep in her marrow, knew but had hoped it might be different, had believed it possible when Athos smiled at her, but still she comes to this --

“Get out,” the words are stiff, “go back to him, go back where you’re needed,” and what _she_ needs is for him to leave, now, before he puts any more cracks into the veneer of togetherness she’s painstakingly pieced together and she’s reminded of how shattered she still is, but when he rises it is only to come stand beside her, warm and solid and real and familiar and still _safe_ , still family with all that implies, and she forces herself not to turn when his large hand settles on her shoulder and he makes a question of her name.

**Author's Note:**

> If I’d planned this better, I would’ve either done all of the sections from the same point of view, or all different, but … well, that didn’t happen. (I also thought about trying to expand on the 5-sentence fics or to interlink these scenes more solidly, but either would’ve probably necessitated a lot of rewriting and that felt wrong.)
> 
> Now with a continuation [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5040190).


End file.
